


Arslan, Prince of Pars

by madelainejpg



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Multi, and Isfan putting up with his crap, gieve being a philanderer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6342817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madelainejpg/pseuds/madelainejpg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another universe, far from the perils of war, Arslan and co. all work together at the Ecbatana Community Theatre. The latest production features Narsus working as the director and Isfan as the overworked and frankly quite sexually frustrated stage manager.<br/>Things already seem to be taking a turn for the worse, as Gieve causes more problems (and breaks a couple supporting actresses's hearts), all while flirting mercilessly with Isfan. Arslan has difficulties relating to his character, Elam and Alfreed argue backstage, Narsus has conflicting artistic visions with Daryun, the props manager, and showtimes are being heavily debated. Throw in the rival Lucitanian Theatre right across the street, and the shenanigans that Hilmes and his group are pulling, and the whole production is in shambles.<br/>Will Gieve quit messing around? Can Arslan come to an understanding with the complex lead part he has taken? Will Alfreed and Elam finally agree on where exactly the writing desk should be placed in Act One, scene three? Is it even worth asking if Daryun and Narsus will ever really agree on something? And most importantly, will the show go on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arslan, Prince of Pars

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just a theatre AU with the main romantic/non platonic focus being Gieve/Isfan. Other things will be touched upon as well, though, and the story will follow multiple characters as they stumble their way through the trials and errors of theatre.
> 
> It should be noted that I haven't written fanfiction in two years. This whole fic was motivated by spite and an obsession with all things theatre and Arslan Senki related. I'm going to keep this whole thing short, though, since I'm mooching off my school's wifi at the moment (yay for their FFA asses not knowing what fanfiction is and therefore not blocking this site), and on limited time.
> 
> Also, the title is subject to change. I'm improvising here, dammit. Yes, it's currently a Hamlet reference. Because I'm basic. 
> 
> So without further ado... I'm sorry.

“So you’re sure that you checked the back side of the building? Sometimes it gets windy, so they post the cast list back there so it doesn’t get blown away. It’s been pretty stormy lately, perhaps they—“  
“Gieve. For the last time, I checked fifteen minutes ago. It wasn’t posted yet.”  
The maroon haired twenty-something let out a deflated sigh and pushed open the door of the rather aged but well taken care of Toyota Corolla that he had previously been leaning against. Jaswant wrinkled his nose a little when the other male sat down in the passenger seat beside him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Gieve sitting in the car with him—he just preferred that the flirtatious musician asked before doing so. It wasn’t as though they were all that close. Simply friends through acquaintances, and the fact that they were both waiting to see if they had been chosen to play a part in Ecbatana theatre’s latest production.  
Still, he hid his slightly displeased expression and crossed his arms. “You know that when someone like Narsus says that the list will be posted at three P.M., sharp, he usually means three thirty, don’t you?”   
“It’s three forty-two.”  
The dark skinned man scoffed, diverting his gaze from the building in front of them to the impatient, blue eyed man beside him. He rarely saw Gieve get this agitated, and not just because he wasn’t around him all that often. “And? What, are you afraid you didn’t get the part?” The corners of his mouth twitched into an almost half-smile, and this time it was Gieve’s turn to scoff.  
“Of course not. People may not like to admit it, but I’m good. I’m sure I’ll get some larger part.”  
“Then why do you insist on waiting out here until they post it? Why not just wait at home for the call like any other normal person?” Jaswant sounded a bit more exasperated towards the end of his comment.  
This earned a smirk from the slender man beside him, and Jaswant immediately regretted showing his faint irritation. “It’s just good luck,” Gieve reasoned. There was another reason, but the fair skinned actor decided not to voice it.  
Jaswant leaned his neck to the side, the sound of his joints popping loud enough to make Gieve cringe a little at the unpleasant noise. “If you’re so talented, why do you need luck?”  
Gieve opened his mouth, getting ready to go off on a tangent about how everyone needed luck, no matter how wonderful they were, but he spotted movement by the door to the building they were parked in front of. Immediately he held up a hand, sitting up straight, “Don’t ask silly questions—look! Someone’s walking out!” His wide sea-glass green eyes were fixed on the person emerging from the theatre in question. Upon seeing who it was, a smile that would’ve put the Cheshire cat himself to shame spread across his chiseled features.  
“Well, well. Look at that. I think that’s my cue to head on over and get a look at that fine… Cast list.”  
Jaswant prepared himself to make a rather impolite comment, but he didn’t get the chance. Gieve had already slid out of the car, shutting the door abruptly behind him, leaving Jaswant alone once more. The green eyed man did not make a move to follow the musician. He figured that driving out to the theatre with him at least earned him the right to wait in the car for Gieve to come back and inform him if he had gotten a part or not. Besides, despite what the artist thought, Jaswant already knew what would transpire next between Gieve and the particular person who had just wandered out, and the man wanted nothing to do with it. 

 

Isfan heard the person behind him before he saw them, and it made their appearance no less grating than if he had spotted them first.  
“Oh? Isfan? I didn’t think I would see you here. Not that I mind at all.”  
The younger man felt his upper lip curl a little bit, and he took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before he faced the great terror behind him that awaited his gaze. Yes, deep breaths. Calm ones. He couldn’t think about all the things he wanted to yell at the he-devil. He closed his eyes for a moment, praying he could get through this encounter without severely wounding his pride, and slowly turned around. Within moments he was face to face with Gieve. The musician was actually a bit too close for his liking, so he took a step back, trying to remain relaxed. If he showed weakness, it would only urge the infuriating little man to continue provoking him.  
“Gieve,” He said finally, pleased that his voice sounded so even. “I wish I could say that I’m surprised you’re here, but I’m not.”  
Much to his disappointment, the twenty-three year old cocked his head to the side just slightly, looking the taller man up and down very briefly with an expression that made Isfan bristle a little. “You aren’t? Isfan, don’t tell me you agreed to go out and post the cast list because you knew I would be here! I’m touched!”  
This time, Isfan couldn’t help the sliver of hostility that crept into his voice. “Well don’t be. I’m not out here because of you. The suggestion of such a thing is ridiculous. I’m the stage manager for this production, or don’t you remember?”  
“How could I forget?”  
Isfan exhaled roughly, trying not to get too caught up in Gieve’s words. He was annoyingly charming. Isfan despised him for it. That and because Gieve had been the reason his older brother had broken his leg while managing Ecbatana Theatre’s last play. Something to do with cues and saving Shapur from getting a bucket of ketchup dumped on him by some meddling stagehands from the neighboring theatre, The Lusitania. Gieve insisted that his actions were not only justified, but had been necessary. Isfan hadn’t believed a word out of his mouth, naturally.  
“Anyway,” Gieve continued, “You know what I’m here for. Well? May I look at the cast list?”  
This time, Isfan was the one looking smug. Feigning indifference, he shrugged. “Fine. It’s not like I have any reason to stop you.” The olive skinned stage manager was trying not to look to pleased, but he was failing.  
Gieve was a bit too transfixed by the pale yellow piece of paper that the theatre techie was clutching to notice Isfan’s change in demeanor. “Alright, will you hand it over, then?” He asked, looking up at Isfan expectantly and taking a step closer.  
“Not so fast!” Isfan stepped back again, his back hitting the brick wall behind him. He held up his free hand. “Let me tape it up. Then you can look all you want.” He didn’t wait for the musician to agree, turning and beginning to paste the cast list, with the words in bold, on the wall. “So, I’m stage manager,” He started.  
“Yes, we’ve been over this.” Gieve spoke, sounding a bit more suspicious this time. For now he was beginning to notice Isfan’s tone. “And?”  
“Well,” Isfan shrugged, pressing a piece of tape to the last corner of the paper that hadn’t been secured yet. “I have a lot of power. Lots of pull. I get to have a rather large say in who gets what part—“ He didn’t get time to finish his sentence. The dark haired actor was beside him, his shoulder bumping against Isfan and making the hair on the back of his neck raise. He sidestepped, abandoning his attempts to seem relaxed. He doubted Gieve would notice, though. He would be too busy looking for his name.  
Isfan watched the young man look for his name, dark lashes that were infuriatingly long and dainty—ridiculous, Isfan scowled inwardly—framing alert eyes as he studied the cast list. After a moment his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “S-supporting cast?!” He managed weakly. He looked both mildly enraged and slightly crushed.  
Isfan was pleased to see Gieve caught off guard, but for a tiny moment he felt a pang of guilt. The actor, despite managing to mostly keep hold of himself, looked a little hurt. The stage manager shook his head quickly, dispelling the feeling. He should be gloating. This was one of the few times he would have Gieve by the neck, and not the other way around. “Yes,” He said finally, his voice sounding just as triumphant as he felt. “Supporting cast. We just felt Arslan would be more appealing as the lead, you see.”  
Gieve’s head swiveled so he could glower at Isfan. “Arslan?! The little pipsqueak?! More appealing than me?!”  
“Yes.” Isfan said, crossing his arms and taking a tiny step towards the other man. He looked down at him, taking in his defeated posture and then meeting his vibrant green eyes. “More appealing than you.”  
The musician was struck dumb for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few more times before he narrowed his eyes. “But—how did you—?!”  
“Stage manager, remember?” Isfan said smoothly. “I just… Put a good word in for him, and here we are.” Oh, sweet, petty revenge.  
Gieve looked as though he wanted to say something, but he was frozen, for once unable to come up with a flirtatious or otherwise challenging counter. Isfan relished in the scene for a few moments, but then nodded his head at Gieve and began to turn away from him, back towards the main building’s entrance. “Well, I’ll leave you to yourself, then. I’ve got a lot of work to do, you know. We’re still in the process of designing Arslan’s costume, you see. He’s the lead after all, so we want want to make his wardrobe absolutely flawless.”  
He heard Gieve sputter, but when he glanced back at him again, the actor was already regaining his previous confident demeanor.  
“Well, good for Arslan. At least I know that I don’t need to have an elaborate costume to get all eyes on me.” Gieve called after him.  
Isfan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Careful, Gieve. If you upset me, I could get Narsus to change your part to a tree. I don’t think that sort of outfit would flatter anyone. Imagine what all the girls working backstage would think.” He reached the door, pulling it open with ease. He thought he heard a muttered curse from the now incredibly flustered musician, but he wasn’t sure. He had already almost completely closed the door behind him by the time Gieve uttered another word.  
He had made the musician speechless. It was in this moment that Isfan decided he was quite sure he was going to enjoy this production immensely. 

 

Gieve, meanwhile, stood where a moment ago the handsome stage manager had made his departure. For a minute or so, he was quiet, still in shock from the way everything had unfolded. He certainly hadn’t expected Isfan to get back at him so brutally.  
His shock was temporary, though, as he envisioned the gleeful look on Isfan’s face when he had thought he had him where he wanted him.  
Well, the amateur actor simply couldn’t allow such a challenge to go unanswered. Isfan wanted to tease him? Gieve chuckled lowly, running his tongue over his lower lip before biting it thoughtfully. Poor, poor Isfan. He thought such a simple move had assured that he had won at the game they were playing?  
The pale skinned man turned back towards Jaswant’s car, running a hand through his already tousled hair and smiling mysteriously. Isfan was really in trouble now. He had taunted Gieve, thinking he was now surely the winner of all their little exchanges.  
Unfortunately, he had underestimated his opponent. Ask anyone who knew him and of the many things others had to say about him, there was one comment everyone who had met him would’ve been able to agree on; if taunting was a competition, Gieve was the biggest tease around.


End file.
